


An Island Made of Feather Down

by northerndanpour (nagirci)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: also bc they swear but lmao is that even a warning, rated teen bc they're NAKED in BED TOGETHER how gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagirci/pseuds/northerndanpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The postman's here, but it's so warm in bed.</p>
<p>
  <em>(Or: Dan and Phil have a sleepy half-hearted argument about who's going to answer the post buzzer it's gross okay they're just really GROSS)</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Island Made of Feather Down

**Author's Note:**

> this is really short but #yolo
> 
> based off of comments made suring the Oreo Lick Race video (which was ages ago but lmao) and also based of off [my friend's tweets](http://kaleidanscope.tumblr.com/post/88973368159/tbh-this-is-exactly-how-i-see-it-happening) like w h y

The only thing that Dan can realistically compare it to is hearing the horn of a lorry when you have the mother of all headaches, whether they be the result of a little bit too much partying or not (and, knowing him, it’s more likely the latter of the two). But maybe it’s just the fact that he’s in bed at eight o’clock in the morning, curled under the duvet with red cheeks and sleep-filled brown eyes, and the bed is so comfortable, and the door is down so many flights of stairs that he can’t be bothered to walk down this early.

He groans lazily, squeezing his eyes shut again in the hopes that if he sleeps for just a little bit longer, maybe the postman will just vanish. Maybe he’ll just disappear into thin air, as if he were never there, if Dan doesn’t move. Doesn’t move, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t even do anything but  _sleep_. God, he wants to sleep. He’s tired; it’s too early for anyone to be awake. Especially people who have nothing in particular to do, especially people like he and Phil who are practically nocturnal, almost vampires.

He smiles to himself, sleepily. Phil, of course. Why didn’t he think of that before? The other man lies beside him, most likely asleep and just as in need of it as he (especially after the events of the night before, with their flushed skin and messy hair), but Phil promised he’d do it this time - Dan’s done it so  _often_ , trailing up and down those several  flights of stairs for parcels that aren’t even for  _him_ , that are for the absolute idiot that sleeps next to him, keeps him company when he feels like the only person in the world, shares the memories they’ve made on the memory foam of the mattress.

He rolls over, poking a finger into Phil’s back. “Phi-il,” he whines, as loudly as the rust of his yet unused voice will allow. He recieves what sounds like a sleepy “ngh” in reply, and the man’s sleeping form stirs cringing away from Dan’s unforgivingly sharp touch. “Phil, go get the post. The postman’s here.”

“M’ not awake,” he hears in response, as Phil burrows down further under the duvet, face hiding in the folds of the fabric. “Stop poking me, Dan. Sleepy.”

Dan jabs again, grinning to himself. Just for good measure. He’s  _tired_  - he’s not getting out of bed just to get mail that isn’t even for him. “Come  _on_ ,” he says, stringing out the vowels in a way that he knows Phil hates. “I went last time.” He shuffles ever so slightly closer. “I’m  _sore_ , too,” “And we all know whose fault that is.  _Please_ go and get the post?”

He swears he can see Phil’s cheeks redden, and he almost laughs at the way it looks, the pale skin of the boy’s face glowing pink. It could just be what sleep has done naturally, it could be embarrassment, but whatever it is, it makes a warm feeling rise in Dan’s chest, spreading out to the rest of him all too easily. Sometimes it’s unfair, how easily Phil can make him feel like that without having to even do anything, just having to be  _Phil._

“But I’m ti-ired,” Phil mimics the lengthening of the vowel, muffled by the material in front of his face. It’s warm,  _so_  warm, and so comfortable - Phil doesn’t want to get up, and he’s not going to. Not even in the event of the bloody apocalypse; if he’s going to die, at least he’ll die cosy and comfy. At least he won’t be opening the door to a cold outside world where there’s no cover and no warm body next to his own.

A heavy sigh sounds from the brunet, because Phil  _always does this_. “But you promised you’d get it this time,” he says despondently. “Remember? You made me go and get it, and it was ridiculously-cold-degrees-celsius, and you told me ‘Just today, Bear. I’ll go next time, promise.’ So you should go and do it.”

“But  _Dan_ -”

“So help me God, if you don’t go, I’ll fucking  _sit_  on you.”

Phil grins microscopically into the duvet at the idea that runs through his head, but decides not to voice it. Dan sounds pretty pissed off anyway, even though there’s a tone of joking running through his words. He doesn’t want to risk riling up the boy any more than he has to doing this. Because then, he’d be sleeping alone, and he doesn’t sleep at all without Dan next to him, without the sound of his breathing to calm the thoughts whirling around Phil’s mind, without the heat of his skin to warm him in the cold. And sure, this is just empty pillow talk, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t say that anyway, instead just remarks “If you sit on me, then I won’t be able to go to the door anyway. You’re heavier than you look.”

An almost growl sounds from Dan, because he can’t think of anything to say to that. He could drag this out further, but frankly, he’s not in the mood for the trouble he'd need to take. It’d probably be much easier to just admit defeat and get up, get some clothes on, go and get all the fucking post that probably isn’t even for him. Phil doesn’t look like he’s moving; Dan can just  _see_  that smug little grin on the Northerner’s face. So he sighs, exaggeratedly, and pulls back the duvet.

“Actually fuck you, Phil,” he grumbles, getting up and pulling on a pair of boxers, pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, just so he doesn’t have to answer the door like that. “I’ll go, you lazy ass piece of shit.”

Phil chuckles, sleepily. “Thank you, Bear,” he laughs, “But I think we’ve already done enough fucking for twelve hours.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I love you, too. Now go. The post won’t get itself.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments/feedback/abuse are always welcome down at [my tumblr](http://northerndanpour.tumblr.com) so hmu


End file.
